Bob's eyes widen as he spots the troll emerging from the brush; "He is large, even for a Troll." Bob thought. As the Troll sniffs and grunts, Bob looks carefully. He has the perfect angle, but where shall his arrow strike? His skin is thick and scarred from the fight from the gypsies. Bob can tell that their weapons struck true but they just did not have the strength to pierce the Troll's thick gray skin. "Need to find a weak spot, but where?" The Troll hunched over to look that the bloody rag. "Need to act fast, no hesitation," Bob told himself, "one instant is the difference in a surprise attack."

He saw the belly of the beast in his aim. He held a deep breath. "Must be still, like the great trees of Yew. Fast like the Desert Ostard of Papua." He let his arrow fly. It split the air like a bolt of lightning. A scream echoed off the trees as the beast stumbled back. With great speed, Bob moved position and knocked another arrow. Another struck the beast in the lower leg forcing it closer to the ground. Bob moved in for the kill, out of his bag he grabbed his axe and rushed the beast.

He was ready; the monster swung as Bob moved, striking Bob with his club. Bob heard his ribs crack and the pain was earth shattering. The force had driven him into a nearby tree. Slowly, the Troll rose to its feet, limping but determined. Bob's vision blurred with tears of pain; he saw the shadow of the Troll approach, five feet away was his axe. He stumbled on, reaching, hoping to grasp it, but alas, it was too far. The Troll took the executioner stance with his club and swung as hard as he could. Bob's reaction was faster; he tumbled away, the pressure on his ribs caused more pain. "Fast like the Desert Ostard of Papua."

Clearly this was no ordinary Troll, Bob had fought many in his life. Some were weak and some had the strength of Cyclops, but this one had a desire for the fight. In a way, Bob respected that in it as much as feared it. As the Troll neared for yet another attack, Bob got his bow and quickly loaded an arrow. He didn't have time to aim, so he simply released. The arrow flew wildly into the air, missing the Troll by a good yard. But it was enough to stop his advance. Bob was on his feet now as the Troll swung again, this time wild and off the mark. Bob had not even moved but the club went crashing inches away from him, the force of the blow so strong it spit the club in two. "Must be still, like the great trees of Yew."

Bob jumped back and raised his bow, trying to ignore the pain in his chest he let another arrow go. At this range, it was impossible for Bob to miss. The arrow burrowed deep in the Troll's stomach, making it stagger back. Bob's eyes starting to see clear, he spotted his trusty axe lying on the ground. He disarmed his bow and grabbed the axe like a hungry man would grab a bread crumb. He felt his heart pounding, exploding faster and faster. "Quick like the Desert Ostard."

He moved in swinging, hacking the arm of the Troll. Blood hit his feathered hat like rain from above; he must have opened an artery. The Troll let out a scream as it swung in reaction, hitting Bob. The long nails of the Troll, sharp as daggers, cut Bobs’ leather vest and scored deep in his chest. The Troll would have his last bit of energy directed at killing Bob. This enraged Bob, with the butt of his axe he struck the Troll in the face, smashing several of its teeth. He struck again, this time impaling the socket of its red eye. The Troll crumpled and fell to the ground, grasping its face with its hands.

Bob spun his axe until it faced the right way in both hands, this time delivering a clean blow that took off the Troll's head. A fountain of green blood spouted from its neck and sprinkled Bob's hunting hat. Bob ran his index finger, smearing the green blood and licked it with his tongue. At last, a victory. Then the hard and tedious part: gutting and preparing it for a meal.

Bob stood over the vanquished beast, carefully cutting the middle of its round belly. The stench made the nearby larks take to the sky. "The greater the smell of the troll, the sweeter the meat." Bob thought. Even with the scent of Troll insides permeating the air, Bob smelled anger of beasts. Despite the nerve-racking pain in his chest, Bob clenched his axe tight, ready to swing at a moment notice. Then, from the darkness of the woods came a Mongbat. The Mongbat flew at Bob's backside knocking him down. The blow forced his axe out of his hands and far from his reach. The hard ground adding more pressure to his ribs, he could not breathe. The giant Mongbat perched on his back, its sharpened claws ready for the kill, but then a voice spoke in the speech of Mongbat. “No,“ it said, “not him.”  Another Mongbat emerged from the woods. “Take the covering off his head” 

The Mongbat obeyed with out question. When he did a huge scar across Bob's head was revealed. “It is Karamadon.” the Mongbat said.

Hours later, Bob found himself in a cave, his chest wrapped in giant leaves. He knew that was to heal his wounds, but he was not at a town healer - he was in the dark. He sat up; the leaves must have just been placed because he still felt the pain of his cracked ribs. Where was he? How long was he unconscious? Was he in danger? He did not feel so. "Must gather yourself," he thought, "must adjust to the darkness, must gather strength. Must be still, like the great trees of Yew." With one sniff he knew something was watching him. His eyes focused and he began to see. Hanging from the stalagmites were hundreds of Mongbats. This might have had any other man ready for the fight or perhaps run, but Bob felt at home and among family. The Mongbats spoke in their language, “Tell us who are you?”

Then, to his surprise, Bob spoke in their language, “Forgive me, oh great bat of the forests, I mean no harm. I kill only those who are unnatural to the forest.”

“How can you kill what you have created?  It is Ooman that have made the unnatural. Now you kill them, foolish Ooman.”

“The monsters, they are too many, they feed off land and kill everything that is around. They must be stopped.”

“You have the smell of Ooman on you, and you hunt like Ooman. Who are you to speak to us in our language?”

“I don't know.”

Then came a great laugh, so loud it shook the cave floor. A larger Mongbat swooped from the cave ceiling and landed face to face with Bob. His clawed hands ran across Bob's scar. It smiled. “You think like a Ooman? Pitiful. You say the monsters kill and destroy the land? What do you think Oomans do? You don't see the failure of your efforts?”

Then, from out of a dark corner came an aged Mongbat bearing war paint and a necklace of bone. When he appeared, the others silenced in honor. He came to Bob and touched his shoulder and they  walked to a small sub-cave that had writings on the wall. There, in that small private cave, Bob and the ancient Mongbat spoke, “My people have much hatred, we are being push to the brink of extinction. It has been a long time, Karamadon. Until now, I thought you had died.”

“Why do you call me that?” Bob asked.

“It's your birth name. Much is to be explained; much of your life is unknown to you. These tribes of Mongbats are of Yew origin. That was where you were brought to us. Our tribe has raised you, along with your brother, as Mongbats. Most of your life you have lived among us, hunting the animals of the forest, but in a Mongbat's life we are tested to flight. You had taken such a test but you had failed. That scar on your head is the result of it.”

“So it is true. Thank you, great Mongbat. It has been the length of my life to know what I know now.”  Bob felt victorious. He had the answer finally and knew that there was another like him, a brother.

“So, Karamadon, you have been lost, but alas you cannot stay here.” The Mongbat motioned Bob to follow him through another passage. “When you came to us, you were pure, but now you had human contact. You must not serve two masters, Karamadon, and I feel something inside you, a special purpose.” The entrance lead to a soft light. “Journey. Out there you will find it, it is what you seek. What all seek. Your purpose is not with us, Karamadon. The next time you see a Mongbat, it will not hesitate to attack you. You must understand the balance of nature, and you are part of it. Go now, Karamadon, it calls you now.”
 

The Guild Tower of Ordo Sylvanus, west of Trinsic. 

Lothar had traveled the road as he did every day, protecting the travelers from the monsters that would devour any traveler unlucky enough to see one. His long sword, stained now with the blood of Ettins and Orcs, slung over his back. His white robe stained with blood, torn and ripped. He wore it proud like metals. He stepped inside the tower, removing his robe and revealing the guild's colors with his tunic and kilt. He headed for the chapel room located at the very top of the tower.

Every floor of the tower symbolized Lothar's ideals. The bottom was the Servant Hecubus’ workroom, long with raw ore storage while housing a huge forge and anvil, looms and thread wheels. It was a place where the hardness of iron and the delicate cloth merged together to form the foundation of the tower. More importantly, the guild workers were the foundation of the guild. The next was the barracks, where any man bearing the colors of Ordo Sylvanus could get rest and supplies. Then his dwelling, where his children and wife stay. Family before guild. The top was the chapel. Lord before all.

He reached the altar after climbing the stone stairs that lead to it. On the walls, paintings hung bearing the likeness of Ordo Sylvanus’ lost. Men such as its founder, Doctor Evil, and his faithful Grendal. At the top, Lothar began his prayer. His thoughts of forgiveness put his mind at ease. Afterward, he washed his blade and sat on his throne. There before him lay a scroll with the guild emblem sealing it. Lothar tore it open.

Three Dire Wolves are killing cattle. The ranger takes his bow and shoots one arrow, killing one of the wolves. Assuming that the arrow does not ricochet, how many wolves are left?

Lothar recognized the writing; it was from his brother-in-law, Mini Me. He pondered the riddle. Simple at first glance, he thought, but its simplicity hides the true answer. He saw Mini Me walk up the stairs, a look of profound worry on his face. “What troubles thee?” Lothar asked. Mini Me waved him closer.

Lothar followed him down the tower stairs to the front entrance. There he saw a body wrapped in a death shroud. “He was in the coffin,” Gilgamesh pointed at a carriage, "pulled by two black horses.”

“Take him inside. We have to get a closer look at him.” Lothar ordered. They laid the body on a table. The body was bare and muscled. The only clothing he had on was a pair of sandals. Lothar looked with Mini Me at the body closely. His skin was stitched together on long line from his chest to his groin. “This man had been cut by a small sharp knife and then sown.” Lothar's eyes kept probing, then as his eyes scanned the body's left leg he noticed something. "Bring the light from the candle closer. Here, Mini Me." The light shined and revealed an open wound centered on his calf. Lothar opened the wound wider with his two index fingers. A shocked filled his body and he grunted. No blood, odd. His fingers felt a piece of leave maybe. Carefully he clamped it with his fingers and pulled it out; it was a scroll.

It read: The future is now. I have come like a revenant to avenge. Know that you cannot halt my efforts for you are a part of them. I have seen the future and it is gold like that of pure ore  I am the future, I am the past, and I am the unstoppable force.

Lothar read the scroll, then passed it to Mini Me. “Brother, you are wise in these matters. What is the meaning in this?” Lothar continued to look at the corpse.

Gilgamesh looked with him, “What is the meaning of the scars?" Gilgamesh asked.

“This man has been experimented on.” Lothar answered. “When I touched him, I felt a shock like as if he attacked me. This had great strength; that is why they had chose him.”

“Who chose?” Gilgamesh wondered.

Mini Me remained involved with the scroll, “Much is said in this note that is hidden. I will run tests on it, maybe it call tell us more.”

“Like what?” Gilgamesh stared at Mini Me.

“For instance, what type of leaf it came from might tell us where the author of this message lives. Yew scribes use dried Yew trees to make scrolls, where the mages in Magincia use the tropical trees that grow in that area. Also, if we could find out if the scroll is magical in nature, it would give us an idea of what we are are dealing with.”

“There is no need.” Lothar interjected. “I can tell by the way he cut this man he was a healer. He knew much about anatomy, and the magic that the body attacked me with tells me he is a very powerful mage. That means he is a scholar of both. Look at this man's wrist; see the bruises? This man used all of his strength to try to escape the pain. One wrist is broken.“ Lothar took out a skinning knife and dug into the man's finger nail. A dark gray substance lay on the tip of his blade. “Take this, Mini Me. Find out the nature of that substance. I am taking Gilgamesh with me.”

“Where are you going brother?”

“The Tower of Insane Mages, I feel they must be a part of this.”

“How do you know this, Lothar?”

“Read the scroll, brother, the author knows us. Notice he uses the word ‘revenant,’ a spirit wronged returning to avenge its wrong-doers.”

“It also says we are a part of the ‘future,’ which tells me that this might be a trap.”

“What sort of trap?” Asked Gilgamesh.

Mini Me looked at the note again, “That I do not know at this time. I will travel to Britain and speak with the scholars there.”
 

The Great Desert, 100 miles from Britain

Bob wandered the roads and had seen many crimes committed. Brave adventures would fight off the advances of hell born monsters only to find that once the monster was weakened another “adventurer” would finish the beast off and steal the monster loot. In another instance, he saw men taming monsters, befriending them for the purpose of gaining fame and wealth. Could this be the nature of humans? The Mongbats might be right, humans will be the master of their own tragedy.

Up ahead, he saw a missionary. He took a deep breath, the pain was still there. He needed the help of a healer to get through this trial. He advanced, hoping to find a kind healer. Bob opened the door and was assaulted by the smell of death and rotten flesh. The room was filled with beds and tables with bloody bandages.  Among them, was a tall man. The only one standing, he wore a robe that displayed the colors of Ordo Sylvanus. The man looked at Bob with kindness in his eyes. His was known to all as El Matadore. El Matadore grabbed Bob as he collapsed from pain.

Hours later, Bob awoke in a bed. Next to him a man wallowed in pain, his legs purple and inflamed. El Matadore quickly came to his aid, giving him a healing tonic. “Here you go, Tamer. You should not try to tame the giant scorpions of the desert. They are evil in nature.” Bob looked at El Matadore rushing to the aid of another. This was the nature of humans? Helping others, but what he had seen on the roads was the actions of thieves and pompous nobles. Here was a human who cared for beggar and noble the same. He even cared for those who befriend monsters. Bob sat up; this time there was no pain; he had healed. “You have quite a gift, my friend.” El Matadore said, “I can feel a special aura around you, my friend. Something is out there for you.”
 

The Tower of the Insane Mages, deep beneath Serpent's Hold.

Lothar held the torch as he and Gilgamesh reached the tower. Lothar drew his long sword, the light off the torch reflected its gleam. Lothar took a deep breath; he did not feel any danger, but the night before he had received a vision. Doctor Evil appeared and warned him of great evil. Lothar remember the warning word for word, “Evil is the weed who's roots run deep in the ground. Do not strike at the weed itself, for what you see is not the whole but rather the beginning.”

They arrived at the entrance. Lothar gave a swift kick and the door flew open. Bottles, books, reagents, no sign of life. Dust and cobwebs everywhere, no one has been here in some time. Then, a noise small but noticeable. Lothar felt a presence, “On the ready.” he ordered to Gilgamesh. Gilgamesh knocked his bow. They ascended the stone flight of stairs, and when they reached the top, Lothar saw a light coming from one of the rooms. The door flew open. “Kal Vas Flam.” the mage spoke.

Gilgamesh was engulfed in flames. He screamed as he left his arrow fly, but he fell backward affecting the trajectory. The arrow hit the ceiling, then bounced off and smashed into a bottle that was on a nearby shelf. Lothar lunged at the mage, swinging his long sword. But the mage grabbed his arm, halting him in midswing, and delivered a swift kick that landed in Lothar's mid-section. He stumbled back, the wind taken from his lungs

His eyes widened as the mage cast again, “Corp Por.” A bolt of energy shot from the mages hands. Lothar, no stranger to mage combat, was ready. The attack bounced off his shield, sending it bouncing off the walls. The mage took his stance and smiled. Lothar's rage grew as he swung again, this time striking the mage in his arm. The mage jumped back and shot his good arm forward, “An Ex Grav.” Lightning shot from above Lothar's head, catching him off guard. The pain forced Lothar to his knees and he lost his grip of his shield.

Halfway down the stairs Gilgamesh had fallen. Crawling up the stairs, his skin felt tight and condensed. Every movement he made his skin feel as if it was tearing apart. "Must help Lothar," he thought, "fight through the pain." When Gilgamesh arrived at the top, he saw blue flashes and the sound of metal hitting stone, which emitted gold sparks. Hit and counter hit Lothar and the mage fought, the mage shouting the old words of dark magic and Lothar moving with catlike speed, dodging the magical attacks. Gilgamesh readied his bow. "Aim true this time." he told himself. It did just that, hitting the mage in the chest. The arrow burrowed deep in the mages lung. The mage coughed blood and fell.

Lothar crouched over the dying mage, his long sword pointed at the mages throat. “Tell us vile mage," he asked, "did you send the body?" The mage's eyes, full of tears, looked up at the gray-haired paladin, then he spit blood into his face.

“Fools!” he grunted, the blood filling his mouth and throat making his words hard to understand, “You, the Saint of Skara Brae, a mere pawn in this game.”

Lothar face turned red with anger, “Tell me and I shall save your life, but deny me and you will die a long death.”

The mage laughed a kind of eerie mix of blubbering sounds, “The future is now.” His eyes rolled and his chest sank in. He was dead.

Gilgamesh shouted, ”By the Gods' bones! We have learned nothing, Sire.”

Lothar grabbed Gilgamesh by both arms, “Not true. His words were clear, ‘The future is now,’ the very same as in the scroll. Now we know that the mages are definitely involved.”
 

City of West Britain, The Hall of Sorcerer's Guild.

Mini Me was in a secluded room above the main hall. The room was filled with books of the practice of Magery. Behind a cluttered desk of bottles and reagents was his old friend Marius, the Grand Master Stoic. He studied the scroll well. Mini was by the window, overlooking the Bank of Britannia. He saw the bank was crowded full of peddlers selling the latest in magic items. “Time have changed eh, old friend?” Mini noted, “I can recall a time when the art of Magery was rare and feared.”

“Ahhh yes, Mini,” Marius agreed, “The increase of monsters have brought many would be adventurers to seek a permanent mark on Sosaria. But this scroll is intriguing... the author is using many references to throw you off his scent.”

“I noticed. I still believe he is a mage. He is a visionary. He mentions that he has seen the future, only a mage would speak that way. But then, he speaks of pure ore as if he were a miner.”

“Could be from Minoc.”

“Perhaps.” Mini pondered. Too easy though. Three Dire Wolves are killing cattle….  “I have tested the substance found on the body's fingernails. It's ore, Iron ore; could be mined anywhere. What about the paper?”

“Birch wood, could be found anywhere on the mainland and even most of the isles.”

“What about any events, in your periodical missing persons perhaps?  The man I found this on was imprisoned maybe kidnapped.”

“Well there is always some poor fool missing, and I sometimes think it is for the best that they stay missing. Most of them are gypsies or wandering beggars. Only a fool would wander the road when you can learn to cast ‘Kal Ort Por’. The roads are just a waste of good tax-payers' gold.”

“What about the last line?” Mini hovered over Marius’ back, “It seems odd, ‘I am the past, I am the future..’  like he has known us from days of old.”

“Have you many enemies?”

“Too many, Lothar has fought many battles and has gained many foes.” Perhaps it is the mages from the Insane Mage Tower. In that case, this might already be over. “May I take your notes back to the tower?”

“I cannot, my notes cannot leave this building. If it saw its way into the wrong hands, I would be persecuted. Besides, my notes will not differ from yours.”
 

The Guild Tower of Ordo Sylvanus, west of Trinsic.

Gilgamesh lay on the table with Lothar at his side. Lothar began to place the water-soaked bandages on his skin. It was soothing, the mage spell had wounded Gilgamesh good, but Lothar could heal equally well. A blue portal opened and out stepped Mini Me, “Demon dogs! What happened?” Mini Me rushed to Lothar aide. Lothar was wounded as well, bleeding from his mouth. Lothar was deep in prayer, and did not respond. “I have no new developments from my tests. Nothing that would help you, I'm afraid. You might try to search for missing miners in Minoc. The body that was sent to us might be from there, for I found iron ore under his nails.”

Lothar broke his trance, “He is not from any town.” He stated. “Since I have returned, I noticed that this man was a brigand.”

“Amazing. How did you find that out?” Mini Me was jolted by the news.

“I managed to cut along his scars. The magic energy was still invoking pain, but I did alas. I found in his stomach half eaten vermin and apples.”

“Brigand Stew!” Mini was excited. This development could narrow the search. “Have you visited the brigand fort?” His eyes were like that of a child seeing his first toffee apple.

“No, brother, I know that the mages, too, are involved. Looking at the body, it seems that the mages are using the brigands for experimentation.”

“For what purpose?”

“This brigand seems to have a spell cast deep in his bones like a mage with reactive armor, if you inflict pain on the body you fell his pain twice fold.”

"But that is impossible. Once a person is dead, any spells fade along with his life-force. How could this be?” Then it hit him like wild horses trampling him. His mind working faster now, he could see the pieces come together. Three Dire Wolves… ‘I am the future’. “The mages are making a man made of pure magic!”  He jumped. Hearing it come out of his own mouth even scared him. The Ranger takes his bow and shoots one wolf… “It must be Kwan Li, he is the author of the note, ‘I am the past.’”

“Aye, 'tis true, Brother. You have a gift. But the black orb that once lay in the center of the Insane Mage Tower was destroyed, and Kwan Li with it. How can this be? Another black orb perhaps. ‘I am the unstoppable force.’ But where?” Lothar slammed his fist on the face of the table.

Mini Me touched his shoulder, “Don't give in to frustration, brother. You should rejoice.” Lothar gave a look of confusion. “Do you not see what I see? The scroll. Everything is in the scroll. Kwan Li wants us to find him. He is challenging us, ‘Know that you can not halt my efforts for you are a part of them.’”

“But Mini, we have not determined where he is hiding.”

Mini scratched his bald head. “What have your prayers brought you, any visions?”

“Aye, one.” Lothar told Mini about Doctor Evil's warning.

Mini seemed perplexed, “The answer to this riddle is the nature of the author.”

“Kwan Li.”

“Aye, Kwan's power derive from that black orb. What is the nature of the orb? It must be underground. A dungeon… aye, a dungeon indeed. The marks on the body wrist's. A dungeon that is a prison. A prison that holds brigands.”

Lothar cleaned his sword, and dawned his robe and left.
 

The dungeon known as Wrong, east of Vesper

Outside the dungeon, Lothar knelt in prayer. He gathered his courage and walked through the main entrance. The cave was dark, but Lothar's prayer had given him a glowing aura. His pupils turned white as pure snow, and a glow the color of Ice Serpents encased him. He walked, illuminating the chains and bars of the cells; they were empty, the doors unlocked.  He sensed alarm. Out of the darkness came a group of brigands armed with swords. Lothar let out a scream and parried their attacks. His counter attack could not be blocked. In his first strike he severed one brigand in half. The others jumped back with fear, but it was too late. Swing after swing, Lothar hacked with the speed of lightning. By the end of it, he was a paladin covered with blood and body parts. Lothar was in full rage now. His eyes focused on a portal. There he could feel magic burning souls. He went in.

There was a man, his arms shacked to a black orb and his skin cut open and peeled back. Behind him stood Xerat the Black, a Kwan Li understudy. With him, a huge brigand brandishing a double-sided axe. “So,” Xerat spoke, “finally the Patron Saint of Skara Brae. Here to thwart my efforts, I presume.” Xerat stared at the brigand and nodded his head. “He is pure magic! Magnificent, is he not? Soon, there will be an army of them and you will be their general."

“Never!” Lothar rushed the mage, impaling him with his long sword. The force was so strong it spit his ribcage open. Then the executioner attacked. Lothar parried his axe but the force made his feet slide back. He was strong, probably enhanced with magic. Lothar swung, gashing the executioner across the chest, but it sent a shock to Lothar that was more painful. Lothar fell on his back. How can you kill something if you cannot hurt it. Do not strike at the weed itself for what you see is not the whole, but rather the beginning.

Lothar got to his feet. The executioner rushed him and swung. Lothar parried again. Then, he struck the executioner with his shield, sending the executioner back a few feet. But Lothar felt pain again, his nose began to bleed. He was out of the way now, Lothar could make a strike at the black orb. He stuck at the center, but the magic inside traveled along his long sword. He felt as if he were hit by a thousand thunderbolts. He collapsed.

Bob, who had wondered all of Britannia, had come to Wrong to find the brigands all dead. He saw the entrance of the portal and went in; something was drawing him here. His eyes saw Lothar being chained to the black orb by the executioner. He attacked with his axe, hitting the executioner in his back. The axe buried into the executioner back. Bob was hit with such pain that he arched and fell backward. His legs twitched as he fought off the pain. Slowly, he got to his feet and swung again, hitting the executioner in his legs almost severing it. Again the pain Bob fell hard to the floor, the pain so intense he lost his voice.

As Lothar regained consciousness, he saw Bob lying on the floor with the executioner coming closer, ready to finish him off. “The Orb, Destroy the Orb!” Bob saw the axe swing down on him. He rolled, but it still hit his leg. His vision blurred, but he had to survive. He took out his bow and knocked an arrow. He took aim, and let it fly. It hit the executioner in the head. A searing pain hit Bob, but he steadied himself for it. Then he grabbed his axe and stuck the orb. It shattered like glass, exploding everywhere. A blue flash engulfed the room and Bob passed out from the pain.
 

Britain, The Hall of The Sorcerer's Guild.

Mini Me entered the hall like a thief. In his hand was his spellbook, ready for battle. A voice broke the silence, “So, old friend, how did you know I was behind it all?” Mini turned around and saw Marius.

“You gave it away, it was too easy.” That enraged Marius. “The notes was a sure sign that you were hiding something. The fact that you showed no pity for those who had been experimented on, was another sign. Indeed, you are the only one that would try to make men of magic.”

Marius smiled, “You may be wiser than me, but you cannot beat me old friend.”

Mini then smiled, "Aye, 'tis true. But my brother can.” Marius did not feel any pain; the blade slit his throat fast like a cold breeze. He bled uncontrollably as he fell over. Luto laughed as he went through Marius pockets and took his gold.
 

The Great Desert, 100 miles from Britannia.

Gilgamesh had carried Lothar with his hands and Pegasus, his horse, had carried Bob to the Missionary. Lothar healed fast, but Bob being injured so many times would take longer. Mini walked into the room.

“Brother, you have done well again. Another black orb destroyed, you deserve some time off. I can have Genjuro take over guild duties while you heal.  Have you the answer for that riddle?”

Lothar reflected, “Well, this riddle does not provide the nature of Dire Wolves. If they are prone to run from a fight, the answer is one; the dead one would remain. However, if they stay then it is three .Or if one runs, the answer is two.”

Mini Me smiled, “You would have made a great mage.”